Ivana
Why was I in such a panic mode, you ask? Well, such can be traced back to 10 years ago. Most people were still in high school, still fawning over boys they thought they liked, wondering what exactly they wanted to do later on—or better yet, what to do during the summer. The beaches would be packed, everyone would be happy enjoying the summer breeze.
But not me.
Not the daughter of the second butler of the palace. He saw to the needs of the Crown Prince exclusively. And I would tell him.
So despite the fingers pointed by the Crown Prince to me way back then, despite the hatred in his eyes burning towards me for "trying to kill him," as he said—and even my father siding with him rather than me—why wasn't he simply lunging at me and holding me by the neck, demanding to know why I was here?
It was easy enough.
My face had changed. Gone was the childhood fat that rounded my cheeks. Gone were the sunken eyes—the hooded eyes that I had. Even my hair had changed color. My skin had changed, as did the rest of me. If he recognized me, he would be reaching into the depths of his memories with exceptional skill.
"Your Majesty," I said, giving a small bow.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," the man beside me muttered. "I didn't know she would know."
"Really?" I stood up straight, clearing out the nervousness from the back of my throat. "I do my research," I said, looking at the man and then at the King.
Goddammit, his handsomeness was blinding. They had to box him into someone so despicably handsome, I thought he might as well be the devil in human flesh, sent to throw me off my guard.
"I know this place is owned by nobility. I know downstairs is mostly reserved for certain people. I know that it takes quite a lot to secure a reservation, and I know that the second floor is only reserved for special people—and much less, the room at the end of the hall. It's rumored even amongst other countries to be so exclusive, it's not everyone that can come here."
I walked toward the wall and touched the well-polished mahogany shelf.
"It's not too hard to see that you would be here, Your Majesty," I said. "Of course, it would mean you need something from me, Grace Kelly."
I placed a hand on my chest, as if I were reminding myself what my new name was. Why did I pick such a name? Such an obviously fake name? Well, the most believable things happen to be those that were plain and simple.
I found myself smiling at him, but the King just stared at me with a blank, emotionless stare, his eyes moving from my hair to my nose, my lips, my chest, and down to my toes—and then back up.
"You strike me as familiar," he said in a low, cultured accent with his deep, resounding voice.
"I do?" My chest giggled nervously. "Oh dear, I'm flattered," I said, the wide smile turning my face away from him all but intentionally.
Not many people tended to do that. "It would mean I would have known you from somewhere," he said, stepping closer.
"Oh, you don't say?" I waved him off, still looking down at the floor rather than at him.
Oh boy, how interesting the carpets were.
"I'm a software engineer," I said, finally working up the courage to look up at him. "I'm not exactly the best in my field, but I am certainly good. And I'm thorough. I'm sure if you wanted the best, you would have gone for someone that would charge way more than I would offer."
He chuckled, shaking his head. He turned briefly, giving me a perfect view of his hair—hair that I knew all and sundry would fall over.
Stop thinking about it, Ivana. You don't care about his hair. I told myself. You hate him, remember? At least, you vowed to.
"I know precisely why I hired 'Grace Kelly,'" he said. "But I also know that it's an alias."
He searched my face.
"I've searched much, Miss Kelly," he said, taking one of the chairs and sitting down at the head of the table. "I know you have another name. I just don't know what it is quite yet. And to say that you're not the best is a bit of an understatement. I'm well aware of your track record."
He clicked his tongue, tapping briefly on the table.
"I'll come to the choice," he said.
"I need your help. Recently, things have been getting a little uncomfortable with regards to security."
He cleared his throat, looked at the other man, and then back at me. I would have guessed the other man gave him a nod before the king continued.
"You're going to be rebuilding a piece of software that would help. Of course, you will be paid, and your name will not be published. No one would know—just me and him and the small team you'll be working with. They're all hand-picked, specifically like yourself."
His voice dropped low, his eyes grew hooded. It felt as though he could see deep down into me. As though he could see me once again as a 15-year-old—the girl who once chased after his shadows, the girl who once genuinely grew sick at the thought of not seeing him again.
My heart clenched several times, painfully inside my ribs. I sucked in air, looked down at his fingers, and then at the other man.
"Do I have a choice to say no?" I nervously smiled, glancing back at the king.
"No," he said. "I don't pick people who could say no."
"I know that it's been a while since 'Grace Kelly' officially did anything. I know it only begs to question a few things—that work perhaps hasn't been as smooth as it has before. I know what the world economy looks like. I'm not blind. But there's also a reason why I picked you."
He smiled. The answer was quite obvious to me.
"Let me guess," I mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Please," I said. "You can't afford me." I chuckled. "Or you can't afford anyone else. You'll repay me back in favors and somehow I'm supposed to accept it. But I will, because I have no choice, and secretly, you'll recommend me to someone who would pay me something else, who would give me something bigger, and I would be a big person, yes?"
I chuckled. "I know where this is going."
"I'll pay you all right," he said. "But there's the other thing too. Not quite as well as you would have expected. I would like you to understand that all things are not quite as clear."
His voice was low again, more like a rumble and a growl. But he was lying. I knew he was.
Albania was rich. Rich in many things—ranging, strangely enough, from gold to oil. It also was said to have something else, a secret new reserve, a secret new resource that no one knew about. I would find out what it was.
But more than that, I knew that Albania was freaking rich, and Constantine as king controlled all of it. So why was he lying that he couldn't afford me? I'd find out later, I thought to myself, just as I began to feel slightly suffocated.
The mere sight of him was causing me to lose my mind only slightly. Each word he said, each action he took, each breath he seemed to take despite how still his large chest was, was messing me up from within.
I needed to leave.
I shifted again from one foot to the other, looking toward the door and then at the other man.
"Fine," I said, moving to the door. "I'll wait outside while the both of you finish this up."
I said it with a breathless voice, opening the door in a hurry and rushing out, where I breathed in and out several times.
Still, his scent was in my mind, lodged in my memory and digging up the old ones that I had begged myself to forget or at least lock away. Now he was the pirate roaming the seas of my heart and once more pulling out the memories that I had locked in my coffers.
But he would not succeed, I thought. He couldn't.
I would die before he did.